No White Horses and No Picket Fence
by sordidheart
Summary: This will never be a love story. KellyxRyan


Title: No White Horses and No Picket Fence  
Pairing/character(s): Kelly/Ryan  
Summary: This will never be a love story.  
Rating: R  
Word Count: 1874  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"I really should have been born in California. Scantron's just so bleak ya know?"

"Yeah," you say "I know."

And it feels weird to hear your voice. After I've gotten so use to you not saying anything.

I turn and look at you then. You're staring straight ahead eyes on the road. I guess you feel me. You turn in my direction for just a second then look away eyes back on the road again.

That brief glance didn't give me anything. No glimpse into your soul. No brief flicker of you possibly giving a damn.

I should feel use to this by now but staring out the window at the rain. The endless, irritating, rain without meaning to my fingers touch my stomach and all I feel is sick.

"Pull over," I say "Like now."

And maybe it's just my voice that makes you listen. That makes you stop. My voice all queasy and hollow and not like me at all.

"Kelly," you say "it's really bad out there."

I open the door. I run out of your car. And I puke my guts out on the side of the road.

Oh the drama!

Oh the romance!

Oh...my god...

"Kelly..."

I didn't hear you get out. And it's almost too much to bare. As if this day couldn't suck enough. As if I couldn't possibly be more pathetic. I can feel it inside of me tightening and clenching-not _it_-the stupid, stupid, realization that I still fucking care what you think. Out here on the side of some random highway with the cars whizzing by in the pouring rain in the middle of the afternoon on a fucking tuesday of all days after puking my guts out because of what _you_ did to me jesus,jesus, I still want to look pretty for you...

You touch my back and I pull away.

"Come on," you say "let's just...let's just go back inside."

I'm still kneeling on the cold wet ground. There's mud and grass and random garbage underneath my skirt.

My hair's ruined.

"No." I say.

"Kelly."

"Go away. I'll walk home."

"It's five miles."

"I can make it."

"Don't be stupid."

And I know it was just a slip. These days you choose your words very carefully around me. I know you'll apologize. I know! But still...but still!

My breath smells.

I'm pregnant.

"I am not," and I'm standing up. I'm beating on your chest and I'm _screaming_ at you "stupid!"

"I didn't mean..."

"I'm not stupid!"

Beat.

"I'm not dumb!"

punch.

"I'm fun!"

hit.

"I'm pretty!"

slap.

"And you are not, not, better then _me_..."

And you're grabbing me because I'm falling. I'm cold and I'm wet and I'm pregnant. And my skirt's ruined and my hair's a mess. And I'm pregnant. And you're holding me and my fists hurt and I'm pregnant.

"I hate you." I say into your neck.  
There was a time...when I would have literally killed to be inside the inside of your apartment...soaking in your tub...while you sat on the closed toilet leaning over with your hands covering your face...just...staring at me.

The water's hot. Too hot. Just the way I need it to be.

"Keep staring at me like that," I say "and you are so gonna give me a complex."

You sigh then. And it's like all the air is just falling out of your body. And it's not your annoyed sigh. It's your "she's talking now so I have to say something" sigh. Which is usually mixed with annoyed. But not today.

I guess you figured that today...that would be rude.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

I close my eyes and sink a little bit deeper into the water.

Because how am I supposed to answer that?

I mean you _know_ how I'm feeling.

So you have to know I can't possibly tell you how I'm feeling...

I open my eyes. I look at you.

"I'm hungry." I say.

"I meant to go shopping," you say. While you're fixing me condensed soup.

"This is fine," I say "I mean at least it's _Cambells_ right?"

That actually gets a smile out of you.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

"A beer would be great."

You stop opening the can. You look at me.

"Or water," I say "orange juice, whatever."

You pour me a glass of juice from the fridge. There's not much left. You throw away the carton.

"You really do need to go shopping." I say.

You turn and stir the soup. I can smell it. It makes me feel a little queasy but I don't say anything. I just sip the orange juice that I don't really like.

There's pulp in it.

I take another sip.

There would be.

You place a bowl and some crackers in front of me.

And then you sit down.

"You can have a beer if you want," I say.

"Wouldn't that be...I don't know inconsiderate?" you ask.

I shrug "Probably. but since when have you ever worried about that before?"

And you flinch.

And I can't help smiling.

"I guess I deserved that." you say.

I break little tiny cracker bits into my soup.

A clock ticks.

And then you ask "Should we talk about...should we talk about what we're going to do?"

I keep breaking crackers into my soup. I think about my sister.

"What's there to talk about. We can't keep it."

The day they buried her it snowed. Not a lot.

I had a cold...

"My parent's would freak," I say.

Tamara would have never gotten herself into a mess like this.

"And yours...yours don't even know I exist right?"

She wanted to be a vet.

She wore a lot of sweaters and long skirts.

She was five years older then me and smart.  
"We can't keep it." I repeat.

You don't argue. You just get up from the table, walk over to the fridge, grab two beers, you hand mine to me slowly, and I take it. And I'm grateful.

"So we'll...we'll make the appointment tomorrow?" you ask.

I'm laying on the right side of your bed. I'm staring at your closet door.

"Sure," I say "whatever."

On your nightstand there's a picture of you and your parents.

You turn off the lights

You climb in the bed next to me.

It's only nine thirty. But it's so dark...

"Ryan?"

"Yes?"

"What if..."

And maybe it's the dark. Or just the way your body feels next to mine.

Warm.

Safe.

But I can feel myself slipping into that place again.

"Kelly..."

That place where you and I...we could really _be_ something.

"I'm just saying...maybe we could..."

"Please. We can't. It's...it's just not a possibility."

And we're quiet.

And then I feel it.

And I try not to let it happen. Because this whole day. I've tried so hard.

But I can't stop thinking about what's in me.

Growing.

And I cannot stop thinking about my sister...

I feel the first tear warm and wet slide down my cheek and then another and then another. I taste salt on my lips...

"Kelly?"

And I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is just this shuddering...wheezing...noise.

"I can't..." I say "I can't..." and I don't even know what I'm saying _I can't_ to. Because me a single mom? So not a part of my plan.

It's just not going to happen. No matter how bad I may feel right now. No matter how much it feels like my heart is being ripped out of me.

It's just not gonna happen.

I know it.

And you know it to.

You wrap your arms around me then and your face is in my neck. You kiss me. Kiss me hard. Like you're trying to make sure that I know you there.

Like it'll change anything now.

I open my mouth to tell you to "Save it. It doesn't matter now!" But all that comes out is that same sad moaning.

You move and you're on top of me.

You're looking down on me.

(Yet again...)

"I'm sorry," you say.

"You really, really are." I say.

And then I grab your shirt and pull you down and you're kissing me.

Your hand is under my shirt (correction: your shirt. I don't have any clothes here.)you unhook my bra, you touch my breasts.

And this is nothing new.

We've done this before.

But this time it's different.

You pull off your shirt and we're both naked from the waist up.

And you're looking at me.

It's nothing we haven't done before but this time it's different.

This time you're looking me in the eye.

There's no alchohol. No pretending this is more then it is.

Need pure and simple or solice...whatever.

This time is different.

This time is also the last time.

I know it.

And you know it to.

Because after tomorrow is done...

You reach down and pull my panties...down...down...down...

After tomorrow is done...

How could we ever touch each other again?

And you're in me. I wrap my arms around your neck and I bit my bottom lip.

After tomorrow will be too apart of each other...

I bit my lip harder and you move and breathe...

And I think about work...I think about weddings...I think about my mother...I have bills to pay...movies to return...I'm thinking about getting a cat...

_I'm 27 years old._

And this is my life.

I'm the kind of girl who loves pink in an unhealthy way. I can't stand the taste of alchohol but I drink it anyway.

To be social.

I was a straight B student. I lived at home two out of the three years I was in college.

I wanted to write for fashion magazines.

And somehow I ended up working for a paper company.

A drunk driver killed my sister who was smarter then me.

I'm 27 years old and I know you'll never love me.

My favorite movie ever is Cinderella.

I've always wanted the picket fence...

You move into me harder. So sharp and suddenly I see stars.

_I'm pregnant right now. But by this time tomorrow I won't be._

I close my eyes and I see stars but then I open my eyes and I don't.

I look up at you.

You lift your head up from where it was resting on my shoulder.

I brush away some hair that's fallen in your face.

And you let out a little gasp and you say again so soft I can barely hear it.

_"I'm so sorry."_

And all I can do is nod.

It's not like I'm saying it's okay.

But...what good will being angry do?

And I watch you close your eyes.

And slide your head down.

Past my breasts.

To my stomach.

You lay your head right there.

Like you're listening for something. Some movement...something.

And you stay there for a very long time.

I don't have the heart to tell you how hard it is to breathe.


End file.
